


caught in irons

by twistedroses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS Role Reversal, F/M, Halloween, Horror, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 10:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedroses/pseuds/twistedroses
Summary: Cursed to become a monster at the rising of the full moon, Emma enlists Hook’s help to venture across the sea to find the only one who can cure her. But with the secret held tight to her chest and the full moon edging closer, sometimes secrecy and lies can be worse than the darkest curse.Accompanying art by Clockadile.





	caught in irons

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe I've never posted a Halloween fic before, and I'm thankful I finally get to! This fic is a part of the CS Role Reversal, with art by Clockadile inserted here. This fic was inspired and thought up by her idea for the art, and I hope I've done her amazing work justice. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Emma tugs the heavy woolen cloak closer to herself as she hurries down towards the docks, tucking her face into the shadows of the robe. It’s early morning, the dew fresh and cool, a faint salty breeze rising up from the sea. She’s sore and stiff today, her muscles and bones re-adjusting to this human body, and her walk towards the harbour is more of a shuffle, a wince with each step.

She nearly turns around several times before reaching the tall, wide brig ship. She’s putting everyone at risk by stepping one foot onto its decks, but it’s her only choice. Since being cursed one year ago by a vengeful witch, each month has been tortuous, a mess of blurred memories and agonizing pain, and Emma can’t bear it anymore.

Her family had been supportive for the first few months, vowing to find a cure for the curse, but soon the frightened looks and wide-eyed stares started sticking around longer and longer, and Emma couldn’t stay there, not anymore. 

The first month on her own was the worst. She’d disappeared into the thick forest, away from as many people as she could manage, and curled up in a thicket of branches, shaking against the pain in her bones as she lost her mind, lost her body, lost her sense of humanity all together.

Once she’d woken, shivering and bloody in the snow, crying and scared, a dead deer nearby, Emma had pulled herself together. There was no time to weep for her circumstances – not anymore. She’d found her shredded clothing, put on what remained, and set about to learn more about this curse and how to break it.

It was a fruitless few months, full of frustration and painful transformations that she was helpless against, but finally Emma learned of a witch across the sea rumoured to be able to break any curse. This witch has been legend and myth for years at this point; Emma’s not sure she’s even real, but she’s the best lead she’s had.

The next step was to figure out a way to get across the massive, kingdom-separating sea. She couldn’t take a naval ship, lest her parents have put out a search for her, and so had set out for the most notorious pirate port in the country.

Hence her appearance at the harbour this morning, standing before the large white-sailed ship. She’d met its captain two days ago – the day before the full moon – in a nearby tavern. She had pushed half of her gold towards him, begging for passage on the ship to the land across the sea. He’d taken it easily, his smile growing at the sight of the gold, his deep blue eyes glittering with the reflection of the coins. 

“For this, darling, I’ll take you anywhere.”

“Just to the closest port across the sea,” she’d insisted. “As quickly as possible.”

“It will take us nearly a month,” he’d said, tossing one of the coins into the air. The gold had flashed against the tavern’s dim lighting, a golden orb against the black backdrop, and Emma had flinched.

“I have to be there before the next full moon,” she’d said, her heart thudding against her chest. “It’s – it’s critical. I – I have an appointment I cannot miss.”

The captain – Hook – had seemed unconcerned, tossing the gold coin back up into the air before catching it swiftly. That coin and the rest disappeared into the depths of his thick black leather jacket as if by magic, and he’d shrugged, unbothered. 

“Certainly. We depart in two days’ time.”

And so, here she is, two days later, her muscles sore and aching, the after-effects of the moon’s curse a sharp reminder of just what she’s risking. But she has no other choice.

“There you are.”

Hook drops down from the gangplank, striding towards Emma. His hair is windswept, coat flaring out dramatically behind him. He extends a hand towards her to lead her towards the ship, and Emma accepts it, if only to stop herself from turning and running. 

“Ready for an adventure?”

He says it grinning, and Emma manages a smile back. “As ready as I can be,” she replies, and lets Hook lead her onto the ship.

He introduces her to the crew, who seem pleased to meet their rich new benefactor, and they set sail from the port a few hours later. The first few days pass easily in calm waters and clear skies, and against herself, Emma finds herself drawn to this pirate captain. It’s perhaps because she’s been so alone the past few months, starved of any real human connection, but there’s something more to it too. She feels like she’s known Hook a lot longer than just the few days they’ve been on the ship. He’s courteous and polite, nothing like the tales she grew up hearing of the pirates who ransacked her parents’ coast and naval ships. While she’s not dissuaded entirely from those stories, for a pirate, Hook has been nothing but lovely to her. She is given his cabin to sleep in for the duration of the trip, and when she ventures out of it during the long days at sea, he’s warm and kind, showing her the ropes of ship life, so to speak. How to tie the numerous knots needed for the rigging, how to steer the ship at the helm, how to raise the sails high and strong to catch the wind. 

The first few days, Emma eats alone in the cabin, but a week into the journey, Hook has joined her for meals too. He tells her about his life at sea, how he came to be the captain of this ship, of the many exotic and faraway lands he’s visited. Emma has heard of these many lands, been to a few herself, but it’s far more interesting to hear his stories. He tells them from the perspective of a pirate captain, of the sidestreets and dark underbellies, versus hers on the cosseted, well-planned royal tours. 

She talks about her life in return, but leaves out the main details of who her family is and what has happened to her for being a part of that family. Emma doesn’t say what her appointment is across the sea, not even sure where to begin with a lie that could cover the importance of it. It’s obvious Hook senses the subject is difficult, and she’s grateful that he doesn’t ask any details. 

One day, Hook brings out his sword, the sharp edge gleaming in the hot sun. He gives her one of his own to practice with, and Emma holds it evenly in her hand, balancing its weight. She thinks about telling him that she’s known how to fight since she could walk, taught by her father and mother personally, but she doesn’t get the chance before he’s lunged at her, and the swordfight commences. 

Though, it doesn’t last too long. 

“You’d make a hell of pirate,” he says with a laugh, as she reaches down to pull him to his feet, his hand curling tightly around hers. “Who taught you to fight?”

Emma smiles, even though her heart twinges in her chest at the thought. “My parents.”

He catches her expression, and he tightens his grip on her hand, his thumb running comfortingly across the back of it. “What happened to them?”

“I had to leave,” she replies honestly, because that at least is true. “But I hope to see them again one day.”

He’s watching her closely, eyes warm and knowing, and it takes a good deal of willpower for Emma to drop his hand and turn away, handing his sword back and then retreating back below deck to gather her thoughts. For the rest of the afternoon, Emma paces back and forth in the cabin, at war in her mind. 

She needs to get a grip on herself; she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anyone since leaving her family, and Hook is making it hard to keep that up. But, it’s for his own protection, she tells herself. The further away she keeps people, the less chance there is of Emma hurting them. 

But … Emma knows that’s not really the truth – she’s not sure she could face the thought of another person learning the truth about her and backing away in fear. Of looking at her as though she’s a monster, something to be feared and hated. Though this curse has broken her beyond belief already, she doesn’t think she could handle that again.

As the days tick closer and closer to the next full moon, the apprehension and worry that always accompanies this time of the month starts to fill Emma with dread. Hook has said they’re making good time, but several days before the full moon, out in the middle of the sea, threatening storm clouds appear over the horizon.

“That doesn’t look good,” Emma comments to Hook, standing at the helm with him as the first winds begin to reach them, whipping their hair into tangles.

“No,” he replies, brow furrowed heavily. “No, it does not.”

Hook calls for the crew to secure the sails against the coming storm, and they manage to do it just in time before the first lashing of rain reaches them. Emma and Hook are soaked within moments, the calm ocean stirring into dangerous waves that rise high enough to drench the deck with icy seawater. 

She hurries back down below decks, and settles herself in dry clothes as she watches the flashes of lightning and pounding rain from the windows of the captain’s cabin. It seems never-ending, this storm, and it’s a full two days before the winds and rain break, the ship flooded and groaning from its lashing. There’s minor damage all over the ship, and the crew spends several hours doing repairs as best they can with their limited supplies before the ship is sailing again. 

They’re still on course, as far as Hook can tell, and when Emma rises late on the morning of the full moon, a sense of peace has settled over her. If all goes well, this will be her last transformation. They’ll make port this afternoon, she’ll disappear into the woods for the night, and then resume her search for the witch in the morning. 

Emma spends most of the day sleeping on and off, trying to prepare herself for the night. The transformation is always exhausting, and she needs as much as sleep as she can manage. She’s not paying too much attention to the world outside the cabin, wrapped up in her thoughts about what’s going to happen, but when she awakes from one of her naps, thinking it must be late afternoon now, she glances outside the windows of the cabin and realizes there’s no land in sight.

A bubble of concern starts to grow in her chest, and Emma ventures up to the deck, joining Hook at the helm. He’s frowning at his star charts and navigation books, muttering to himself, and Emma’s sense of concern only deepens.

“What’s the matter?”

“The storm,” he replies, not looking up. “I thought we’d be mooring today, but … well, the storm sent us further west than I thought. It will be a few more days until we can make port.”

Her stomach drops, and Emma reaches out to the helm, gripping it tightly to stop herself from collapsing into a heap on the ground.

“We … what?”

“It’ll be a few more days,” Hook repeats absently. “Hopefully your appointment can be delayed.” When she doesn’t answer, he glances up to her. His expression, which had been twisted into a grimace of annoyance, changes swiftly to one of honest concern. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

“We need to get to shore today,” she says, gasping against the mounting pressure threatening to send her into a full-blown panic. “Anywhere, any place.”

He frowns. “We’re miles away from any land.”

The world is starting to turn black at the edges of her vision. No, no, _no_ … this will be worse than her first transformation, when no one knew what was happening, when she’d – when she’d hurt so many innocent people who were only trying to help her. 

This time, Emma knows what is going to happen to herself, to the crew, to _Hook._

She turns sharply away from him, darting back to the cabin below. She doesn’t know what to do, but she starts throwing her few meagre belongings into a bag, wanting nothing more than to get off this ship, _needing _to get off the ship.

“Emma, what’s going on?”

Hook has followed her, shutting the door to his cabin firmly behind him, and he crosses to join her at the small table, a comforting hand at her shoulder. But she pulls away from his grasp, and holds her hand out, warning him to stay back.

“I need to get off this ship,” she says, her voice barely a sound as her throat closes up in fear. “Now, before night falls. Can you help me lower the lifeboat to the sea?”

“The – the lifeboat?” He shakes his head. “No, Emma. I can’t let you take that, what if the storm returns? That would be a death sentence. Whoever – whoever you’re meeting for your appointment, surely they will understand a few days delay. They’d rather you show up late than not at all, which is what will happen if you go out into these waters in that little boat, which, mind, I’m not even sure if it survived the storm in fair conditions, we haven’t checked it yet –”

“I don’t have an appointment!” Emma shouts, interrupting his rambling, making him go wide-eyed. “I need to get off this ship _now_!”

She makes to move past him, to go up to the deck to search for the lifeboat, damn his considerations, but he blocks the exit, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

She takes a deep breath; there’s no time to deny or hide it now, not when every minute she remains on this ship is dangerous. The longer she fights Hook about this, the less time she’ll have to figure out a solution.

“Several months ago, I was cursed to – to become a monster. Every full moon. I can’t stop it; I can’t control it. I was trying to get to someone to cure me before the next moon, but – but now that we’re off course … Hook, I – I’m dangerous. I’m a killer and I can’t help it. I need to get off this ship.”

She explains further: how a witch cursed her over a year ago, how she’s been on her own for months searching for a cure, how she found out about the witch across the sea who could help her. How she loses all sense of her humanity when the full moon rises, her memories from the next morning only of blood and pain, how her bones ache for days afterwards, how she cannot stop herself no matter how much she wishes she could.

When she finishes, her voice trailing off into a miserable expression, Hook is staring at her now, speechless for the first time since she met him. His eyes are wide and alarmed, and Emma’s heart breaks. It’s the expression she’s been dreading for weeks, the expression of fear, of suspicion, of danger. 

Of realization that she’s a monster.

She swallows back a sob, forcing her emotions aside, turning her voice to steel. She has to be strong, she _must _be – otherwise, they’re all doomed. 

“If I can’t get off this ship, you have to lock me up. In the brig, or somewhere where I can’t hurt anyone. Now, before – before it’s too late.”

He regards her silently for a long moment before nodding once, his face now oddly expressionless. It’s nearly worse than the alarmed expression from before; Emma’s not sure which makes her heart break more. 

“Alright. Follow me.”

He leads the way down into the depths of the ship, into an area used as a mixture of storage and sleeping quarters. It’s pitch black down here until he lights a lantern. The piled crates and the hanging hammocks cast eerie shadows, making it look like there are long, snaky hands reaching out from behind every nook and cranny. 

At the far end of the storage area, there is a large wooden door that Hook pushes open with an aching creak. A handful of jail cells are in this room, with iron bars on three sides against the old hull. They appear strong enough to hold a pirate’s prisoner, Emma thinks, as Hook swings open a squeaky door to one of the cells, but certainly not strong enough to hold her.

She inspects the iron bars, her heart sinking, and she turns to Hook, standing outside the cell. He’s watching her closely, his expression still unreadable, and Emma tries not to flinch.

“Do you have any chains?” she asks, her voice as steady as she can make it. “This – this won’t be enough.”

He inclines his head in a brief nod, and disappears back the way they came, returning a few minutes later with four iron shackles in his hand and hook. They rattle and drag across the floor as he returns to her, and he looks at them and then her dubiously. 

“Are you sure you’ll need these?” he asks, and Emma nods.

“Trust me. You all will be better off if I do.”

He remains doubtful, but helps her get the chains onto both of her wrists and ankles. They’re heavy iron manacles that are icily cold, sending a chill down Emma’s spine as they’re locked around her limbs. Hook links the chains through the iron bars, locking her in place in the cell, stepping back to observe her. 

“Emma,” he begins, reaching out to her, but she leans back, as far as the chains allow. He drops his hand to his side, staring at her in concern, and he shakes his head once, distractedly. “Listen, it’s going to be okay,” he says, earnestly. “You’ll be safe here, and tomorrow, we’ll figure something out, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Emma laughs, half-strangled and hysterical. The thought of tomorrow, once so hopeful and promising, now seems very, very far away. She drops down to the floor, curling her legs up to hug them, the chains rattling heavily on the floor as she moves. 

“It’s not me that I’m worried about. It’s all of you.”

He remains silent for a few more moments before, to her surprise, he takes a seat across from her, on the floor outside of the cell. They don’t speak for a long while, Hook leaning against the wall and fiddling with the edge of his hook, Emma hugging her knees and trying not to cry. 

“You know,” he begins, his voice slow and tinged with reassurance. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of monsters. Vengeful gods, sea creatures, mermaids, even cursed demons.” He gestures with his hook vaguely at the last point, a wry grimace across his face. “I know you’re worried about what’s going to happen, but it will be okay, love. I’ve faced monsters before.” 

Emma appreciates what he’s trying to do, but there’s no consoling or comforting her, not now. “You don’t know me, Hook,” she says flatly. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.” 

After that, he doesn’t try to argue the point anymore, and they descend into silence again. Time passes immeasurably, anxiety and dread filling the small brig as each moment brings them closer and closer to the full moon rising. And then, as it does every month, the start of the transformation begins with pain. 

It’s agonizing, this pain. Her bones begin to fracture and re-form as another being, her muscles twisting and stretching to accommodate the changes, as her organs shift from one part of her body to another. Emma doubles over as the first wave of pain hits her, clenching her teeth and letting out a weak moan, unable to stop herself. 

“Emma?” 

“You’d best go,” she grinds out, her voice a hoarse whisper. “It’s – it’s starting.” 

He hesitates, watching her helplessly, but at her glare of urgency, he rises. But before he gets too far, Emma’s hand shoots out from behind the bars, grabbing at his leg to stop him. 

“Barricade the door to this room,” she pleads, half-gasping from agony already, “and don’t let anyone down here. No matter what you hear. Tell everyone to sleep up on the deck tonight. Promise me.”

He regards her seriously, before crouching down to her level, covering her hand with his own and holding her gaze steady. “I promise.”

And then he’s gone, taking the lantern with him and shutting the heavy wooden door and plunging Emma into darkness. He locks it, and she can hear him drag heavy barrels and crates towards the door, stacking them as a barricade as she asked. And then, when he’s done and his footsteps have faded, a heavy silence descends.

Now she’s truly alone, awaiting what she knows will be a night of agony and terror. The pain of the transformation grows and grows, her muscles and bones reshaping themselves into a monster’s, and she’s only able to conjure up a desperate prayer that the measures they’ve taken will work before she fades into darkness, lost to the curse once more. 

<> 

_The smell of the humans linger in the sheets, in the discarded clothing, in the very air. _

_So hungry, always so hungry. _

_They’re near, the humans. So near she can almost taste them. _

_The moon’s blessing is not enough time, never enough time to satisfy the hunger. _

_The hunger needs more, more, always more. _

_The irons are cold, the bars are weak, and the barricade is nothing._

_The hunger will not be stopped. _

<> 

After leaving Emma barricaded and chained in the brig, Hook gathers his crew and tells them of what he’s learned. They’re horrified and terrified, as they should be, but set about readying the deck for a night out under the moon, instead of down below. Night fell in the time he spent with Emma, and a heavy fog has rolled in, casting the ship in faint, grey light from the clear, full moon above. 

It’s eerily silent for a long time; Hook and the crew sit nervously about the ship, all of them on edge, holding their breath. None of them, including Hook, really know what is going to happen to Emma, but from her fears and her tears, Hook knows it's something they should all be afraid of too. 

A loud crash breaks through the silence, sending several crew members jumping to their feet in surprise. Several more crashes and bangs follow that, until it’s a near constant thundering of noise emerging from below deck. Howls and growls echo up through the wooden planks, and loud crashes and bangs startle everyone each time they happen. All of them turn to stare at the closed door leading below decks, as if at any moment it will burst open, which, Hook thinks, is starting to become more and more of a possibility. 

“What kind of monster is she?” Smee mutters. 

An ear-shattering crash booms from down below before anyone can answer Smee, the loudest of the cacophony by far. Hook is on his feet instantly, marching towards the door and announcing without thinking twice, “I’m going down there.” 

His crew cry out in alarm, a few even rising to stop his path, and Smee shouts, “Captain, don’t be a fool!”

Hook shakes them away; he’s made up his mind. He can’t spend all night up here, listening to the chaos below. Emma made him promise to stay away, but he can’t let this go on without knowing that she’s alright. 

The crew send prayers to any god they believe in and worried cries after him, but Hook ignores them. He shuts the door to the upper decks tightly behind him, ensconcing him in the darkness of the lower decks. And though the sounds of whatever chaos was going on down here above deck had been loud, as he moves deeper into the ship, there’s a heavy silence growing now, as heavy as the fog outside. Hook crouches down low as he maneuvers his way through the ship, to the area where Emma was locked up, on high alert for any sign of her.

Hook rounds a corner that leads into the storage and crew sleeping quarters, and immediately skids to a stop. Even though it’s pitch black down here, he can see the damage already done : the barrels and crates he’d barricaded against the door leading to the brig are scattered around, broken shards of wood and iron nails even reaching him at the other side of the room. Hammocks have been torn from their hooks, shredded into thin strip that hang limply from the ceiling. The cannons have claw marks dragged down their iron surfaces, scratches as long as the sword at Hook’s belt. 

And there, half-obscured by a large crate and a row of the cannons, is what he assumes must be Emma. But there is nothing of the pretty young woman in this beast’s features. The eyes are a gleaming emerald, glowing out from the darkness, set against shimmery blonde fur. Though its wearing the same blue tunic as Emma had been, its seams stretched and bulging, that’s where the similarities end.

All traces of her are gone, and only a monster remains.

The beast hasn’t noticed him yet, and Hook drops to the ground, scooting up against a crate and out of the line of sight. His heart is hammering out of his chest, fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Emma hadn’t been kidding when she said she turned into a monster; she was able to escape from the cell and chains easily, the barricade nothing more than an irritant in her way. 

He chances a look over the top of the crate. The beast is growling to itself, breaths heavy and strong, as it smashes into nearby barrels and crates, meandering its way towards him. It walks upright, towering at least two feet above his own height, its head scraping the ceiling. 

He holds his breath as the beast stalks closer and closer. The heavy chains he’d put around Emma’s legs and arms earlier that evening are gone, except for one around the wolf’s left arm. The chain drags heavily behind the wolf, a thud, thud, thud with each step it takes. 

When it is about three feet from him, the beast suddenly pauses, lifting its head into the air and sniffing. Hook is frozen in place, and the wolf whirls its head around to his direction, eyes locking directly on his. 

The wolf acts before he can even think. It lunges forward, swiping out with a large, clawed paw. He just manages to lean back and away from its reach, scrambling backwards as quickly as he can. The wolf advances in turn, stalking towards him, rage and hunger burning in its eyes.

He shuffles backwards, slamming hard into the side of the ship. There’s nowhere else to go – the wolf looms over him now, baring its teeth. They’re as sharp as a sword, and the wolf’s breath is hot as it bears down over him.

“Captain!”

He chances a glance; two of his crew had followed him, and are standing in the doorway, gaping. The wolf turns its attention from him, distracted by the newcomers, and Hook takes the chance to jump to his feet, running and leaping over a crate in the process to get away. 

“Run!” he shouts to the crew, and they don’t need telling twice. 

The three of them race through the pitch black underbelly of the ship. Hook knows this ship like the back of his hand, but it has never seemed more threatening – each shadow makes his heart skip a beat and each creak of the vessel makes him nearly jump back in terror. It doesn’t help that the wolf thunders along behind them, smashing into the walls and crates as it comes. Its lack of familiarity slows it down enough for Hook and the crew-members to escape up to the deck, running for their lives. 

Outside, amongst the fog now coating the ship like a fresh coat of paint, the crew have assembled themselves with weapons. As Hook and the two crew members run onto the deck, several crew heave a barrel into the door frame. It rolls and strikes the wolf in its front legs just as it was about to emerge, making it lose its balance and crash to the floor with a heavy thud. 

The crew scatter after that – to the helm, to the bow, to the crow’s nest. Hook himself heads for the rigging, hauling himself up and away from the deck, as the wolf regains itself, now nothing but fury. 

It tips its head back and lets out a long howl at the moon, just barely visible through the thick fog. The howl ricochets out over the ocean, cold and hollow, and sends chills down Hook’s spine. 

The wolf surveys the ship as the howl echoes loudly around them all. It sets its sight on the nearest crew, and launches itself towards them. They scream and scatter, and a few fight it off as best they can. Their clubs are no hindrance to the beast, and their swords bounce uselessly off the thick hide, and they only succeed in making it angrier and angrier. The wolf lashes out with its claws, cutting and maiming as it goes, snapping with its jaw and making his crew scream in agony. 

Hook watches from the rigging, frozen. A part of him is still struggling to believe what’s happening, that the young woman he’s come to know over the past month is this beast, attacking and injuring his crew, but another part of him, the fiercely protective and loyal captain part of him, is emerging too. If he doesn’t act, and act soon, this beast will kill everyone aboard this ship. 

And he can’t let that happen. 

“Hey!” he shouts, trying to draw the wolf’s attention away from his bloody and hurt crew. “Over here!” 

The wolf turns, eyes focusing on him, barely flickering in interest. He throws a bundle of knotted rope down at the wolf; rope he and Emma had been using to practice earlier, he thinks faintly, as it soars through the air and strikes the wolf hard in the snout. 

It does no damage, but the wolf abandons the crew and stalks towards the base of the mast, haunches raised. Hook pulls himself higher into the rigging, clutching at whatever he can with his hand and hook, as the wolf snaps up at the edges of his coat. Years of experience make it easy for him to scramble onto the large crossbeam of the mast, walking across it like a balance beam, but it’s not enough. With strength and agility he hadn’t thought the monster could have, the wolf scales the rigging like a well-seasoned sailor, advancing towards him as easily as if it was on solid ground. 

He draws his sword, but he’s faced with an impossible duel – a murderous monster against a man who has no desire to kill in return. The wolf slinks towards him, bloody saliva dripping from its fangs, its eyes glowing through the fog. He takes a step back, nearly tripping in the loose ropes, and the wolf seems to almost grin in triumph.

A clawed arm lunges at him, ripping into his jacket and tearing it to shreds. It doesn’t draw blood from his skin – thankfully – but makes him lose his balance. He falls backwards, hitting the beam hard; the ropes on either side of the beam, holding up the mast and sails, act like a net, catching him before he falls to his death.

Though now he’s trapped as the wolf advances on him, opening its jaw wide for the kill, so he’s not sure the rope netting did him any favours. He squeezes his eyes shut as the wolf hovers over him, drawing up his hooked arm in a last attempt to protect himself.

But instead of the attack he braced himself for, it lets out another howl, so loud it nearly deafens him. This time, however, it’s a howl of pain, and he opens his eyes to see a jewelled hilt of a dagger sticking out from its lower back. 

“Silver,” Smee calls out from the deck below, his face ashen and hollow. “They hate it.” 

Forgetting Hook entirely now, the wolf drops from the rigging, landing hard on its feet on the deck. The beast rips out the dagger, stalking towards Smee, hitting out at him with its arm and knocking him backwards. The claws draw across his chest, his shirt blooming with blood, and he cries out in pain, clutching at his chest. The wolf roars and jumps up to the railing of the ship, as if searching for a better launching point to throw itself at the first mate, and at that, Hook sees his chance. 

He’s managed to return to his feet, and from this angle he can see exactly what he needs to do. He and the crew can’t go back and forth distracting the wolf until morning; it’s too vicious and dangerous for that, and will only leave them all dead in the end. So instead, bracing himself for what he has to do, he reaches up for a loose rope, and wraps it tightly around his arm.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says, hoping that somewhere within the beast, Emma can hear him. “But I can’t let you kill my crew.”

The wolf isn’t paying him any attention now, stalking towards Smee and a few other members of the crew, all clustered at the base of the helm. Hook pushes off the mast, swinging out over the deck, the rope tugging painfully at his arm as it propels him right to the wolf. He kicks out his legs, and thuds into the side of the wolf, punting it off balance.

And right off the edge of the ship.

The wolf howls in rage as it plummets into the black waters below, its howl swallowed by the sea as it hits with an enormous splash that sends seawater nearly back up to the deck itself. 

Hook, who’d nearly swung out over the edge of the ship himself with the momentum, lands back on the deck and disentangles himself from the ropes before hurrying over to the edge of the ship. The waters are dark and choppy below, but the wolf is easy to see, green eyes glaring up at him as it battles against the raging waves, struggling to keep its head above water. 

The look in the wolf’s eyes are cold and animalistic, and though he still sees nothing of Emma in the beast, there’s something in that look, something human, something that cuts him to his core. 

_Betrayal. _

He wrenches himself away from the sight, and turns to his crew. From what he’s seen of this wolf, choppy waves won’t cause it any harm, and his crew need his attention. They’re a sorry bunch, bloody and moaning, and Hook orders the uninjured to help the others, setting about doing the same himself, fetching clean cloth from down below to wrap injuries and bandage bleeding wounds.

“We should sail away,” Smee pants, pressing a wad of cloth to the wound on his chest, blood soaking through it instantly. “Lest it tries to climb back up.”

The others mumble in agreement, but Hook shakes his head. “No. We’re staying here. She’s cursed in this form when the moon rises,” he explains, looking up to the sky, to the glowing orb amongst the stars and black, inky sky. “If we leave, we’re condemning her to Davey Jones’ Locker when she returns to herself.” 

The crew mutter to themselves, apparently perfectly fine to leave this beast to the depths of the ocean, but Hook is not. They don’t know Emma like he does; they didn’t spend the day earlier with her where she cried and warned him about what was going to happen, where she made him promise not to come down there. If he had listened to her … 

After tending to the injured, the crew set about cleaning up what they can, or curling up to rest and recover from their injuries. Hook perches on the stairs leading to the helm, where he has a view off the starboard side. 

The wolf is close by, snapping its jaws and butting its head against the hull. It claws at the ship’s side, looking for something to grab onto to haul itself up, as per Smee’s concerns, but unlike in the rigging, this time it’s unsuccessful. The wolf only succeeds in exhausting itself in its efforts, so it changes tactics, becoming something of a shark, stalking and circling, waiting for its prey.

The rest of the night passes slowly. Each minute is filled with another growl or headbutt from the wolf, assessing the damage to the ship, or tending to the wounded. He checks on the wolf in the water frequently, each time hoping against hope that even though the moon is still high in the sky, he’ll look down and see Emma again. 

But it’s a good long while before that is going to happen. After a while, his body and mind numb and drained, Hook drifts off to a fitful sleep. He’s not sure how long he is out before he is awoken by Smee, but the sun has just begun to rise, the sky brightening with faint pinks and purples over the eastern horizon. 

“Captain, it’s over! She’s human again!” 

He’s up and at the side of the ship at once, but he can’t spot her immediately. It’s not until he sees a flash of blonde hair against the dark waves, glimmering slightly in the faint light of the rising sun, that he realizes she’s sinking. The remaining chain around her arm is pulling her down, and as he watches, her blonde hair slips below the surface and doesn’t re-emerge.

Without a second thought, Hook strips off the heavy leather overcoat, dropping his weapons to the deck, and he jumps up on the railing and over the side. 

The water is icy, sending the air shooting out of his lungs, and he gasps as he re-surfaces, taking in his surroundings. There’s no time to waste, and he takes a deep breath, diving under the waves, into the stillness beneath the surface. It’s inky black below the waves, but he can still see Emma, sinking further and further away from him with every moment. 

He dives for her, his lungs straining against the depths of the cold water. It feels like forever before he reaches her, grasping her tightly around the waist and swimming them back to the surface. The chain is heavy and pulling them down, even against his efforts. When they break the surface, his lungs filling with air again, he slashes at the chain at her wrist, breaking it free and sending it sinking back to the bottom of the sea. 

Emma is unconscious, and doesn’t react when he taps her face or calls her name. Her clothing has been reduced to rags, and even amongst the thrashing waves, he can see the ugly wound in her back from where Smee had thrown the silver dagger. Dark purple bruises are peppered all over her body, but thankfully he can see her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, and he tightens his grip around her waist.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you back to the ship.” 

The ship has drifted away from them, and the swim back is long and hard. Finally, when they reach it, the crew help them up with ropes, though they are rightfully frightened and wary of Emma now, and stay far back from her. Both of them dripping wet, Hook carries her down to his cabin himself. She’s still unconscious, and he bandages her back injury as best he can before covering her with blankets. 

Then he drops into a chair, entirely exhausted, and just as he waited for the night to first arrive with her and then waited for the night to be over, now he waits again, for when she wakes once more. 

<> 

When Emma comes to, it’s the worst awakening from a transformation that she’s ever had. Her bones and muscles are in agony, and she’s cold, oh so cold, even amidst the pile of blankets someone has placed on her. 

Emma sits straight up at that, and realizes she’s in the captain’s cabin again. Hook is sitting in the chair beside the bed, his head in his hand. 

“Hook?” she asks, her voice croaky and hoarse. “What – what happened?” 

He looks up, startled by her voice, and he edges his chair closer to the bed. He looks unharmed, though his shirt is ripped, and he’s pale and shaken. 

“You’re awake! Are you alright?”

“What happened?” she asks again, ignoring his question. She _needs _to know what happened, what she did. “Did – did I get out?” 

He nods slowly, watching her carefully for her reaction. “Guess you were right about the chains and the brig.” 

Emma’s heart sinks, and she leans back against the pillows, as if the wind itself was knocked out of her with his words. “Did I hurt anyone?” she whispers. 

“Not fatally,” he says simply, and Emma closes her eyes tightly, several fat tears escaping and rolling down her cheeks. 

She _knew _the risks, and yet she still gambled with them. 

“I’m so sorry. I should – I should have never come aboard. I should have told you, right away. Because you would never have let me come aboard, and none of this would have happened.” 

“I should have listened to you,” he counters, and when Emma raises an eyebrow, he continues, “When you said to not come down no matter what I heard. If I had listened, perhaps … perhaps things would have been different.” 

“That might not have even worked,” Emma says miserably. “You never know with me. My – my family tried a lot, and they … well, they ran out of ideas after a while.” 

He’s quiet for a while, and then asks, “You said you need to find a witch to cure you?” 

Emma nods, scrubbing at her eyes. “It’s the only hope I’ve found.” 

Hook reaches forward, intertwining his hand into hers, and tilts her head up with his hook, the metal cool and welcoming on the bruise underneath her chin, so he can look into her eyes. “Then let’s find her and end this curse.”

<> 

Emma spends the next few days drifting in and out of sleep. The moon’s events always leave her exhausted, but this time, it’s infinitely more, and she is hardly aware of night and day as time passes. The only passing of time she can make out is the fading of the bruises on her body, and the healing of the wound in her back. The silver dagger had done its damage to her as the monster, burning and scorching the wound from the inside out, and it takes Hook’s best healing potions for it to start to scab and recover. 

But the hardest part of her recovery is facing the crew. Their injuries are far worse than any of her own, and though she manages to keep herself calm while she apologizes for lying and hurting them, when she’s alone in the cabin again, Emma cries and cries. 

She doesn’t leave the cabin again, not until they finally make port a few days later. She’s cried herself dry of tears, and now, her resolve has returned. She needs to find this witch and find the cure, if it’s the last thing she does.

And thankfully, she now has Hook at her side too. He schmoozes or threatens as need be, and they soon learn the whereabouts of the witch. She is a recluse, residing in a small hut in the middle of the forest, and though the locals warn them of her tricky deals and getting in over their heads by seeking her out, there are no other choices. 

They leave the_ Jolly Roger _in the harbour with the crew, with a promise to return within the next month. They have repairs from the storm to attend to, not to mention the damage to the ship from Emma’s claws and the chaos she’d left behind below deck. The crew are happy to see the back of Emma, still traumatized by what she did and what she became, and Emma has already sworn a silent oath to herself that she will never sail again unless she is free of this curse. 

Hook and Emma trek through the dark woods, following the directions they obtained from the locals, until they reach a small stone cottage nestled in the middle of tall evergreens, a thin plume of smoke rising from its thatched roof. 

Hook knocks, and after a few moments, the door creaks open a few inches, the witch peering through the small crack. She is an old crone, coddled up in layers of raggedy clothing and a thick scarf obscuring her face, but she smiles crookedly at the sight of them. 

“Ah,” she says, her voice hoarse and deep. “I’ve been expecting you.” 

She swings the door open further, beckoning Hook and Emma in with a gnarled finger. They exchange a look before crossing her threshold. The hut is what Emma imagined a witch’s lair to be: hanging herbs, tables cluttered with bottles and jars of the strangest and grossest items she’s ever seen, a dusty broom by the corner, a blackened cauldron over a roaring fire.

The witch settles herself into an old rocking chair by the fire, picking up a twisted ball of yarn and knobbly knitting needles. She’s silent, focused on her knitting, and Hook nudges Emma, raising his eyebrows encouragingly towards the witch.

Emma clears her throat. “Um, I – I came here to ask you –”

“I know what you want,” the witch replies in a dreamy, singsong-y voice. “And I have what you need.” 

Emma swallows, trying to suppress her bubbling relief until she has the cure in her hand. She’s had hope before, and she’s not going to risk losing it again. 

“What – how much is it?” she asks, searching in her pocket for her bag of coins. “I have –”

“No money,” the witch replies sharply, pointing one of the knitting needles at Emma like a dagger. 

“What, then?” Hook asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

The witch continues knitting, smiling dreamily off into the distance. “For something far more valuable than money,” she whispers. “For something infinitely rarer, seen only in a few special individuals. Something I have been searching for for a long, _long _time.” 

Hook and Emma exchange a look; goosebumps are starting to rise on the back of Emma’s neck and Hook looks increasingly suspicious. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I will give you the cure,” the witch continues. “The cure for the beast you become every month for an exchange.” She sets her needles down on her lap, leaning forward towards Hook and Emma, one liver-spotted hand reaching out to them. “A lock of each of your hair.”

“What?” Hook and Emma say in unison, and the witch repeats herself, a wide smile growing on her face. She rises to her feet as she says her demand again, and Emma and Hook take a step backwards, out of her grasp. 

“Why?” Hook asks suspiciously, his hand drifting to the sword at his belt. 

“That is none of your concern,” the witch snaps, her voice no longer ethereal, but hard as a block of ice. “You either agree to my deal, or let your lady remain cursed forever.”

Hook glares at her, and after a long, angry staring contest, he finally nods curtly. “Fine.” 

The witch grins, and raises her hand as she advances toward Hook and Emma again. A dagger has replaced the knitting needle in her hand, and before Hook can even flinch away from her, the witch has reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair, cutting away the ends and clutching them tightly in her gnarled fist. 

His glare now is downright murderous, but the witch happily ignores him, turning to Emma. The witch does the same to Emma, and then picks up a clear glass bottle from one of her cluttered tables. She slides the hair into the bottle, shaking it so that the golden and black strands mix. A strange white glow envelops the bottle as they do so, making both Hook and Emma stare in surprise, while the witch’s eyes shine with delight. She snatches the bottle up from the table, slipping it into her heavy cloak, patting it securely, and grins widely. 

“Just what I was looking for.” 

Still disgruntled, Hook clears his throat pointedly, and the witch sends him a withering look as she shuffles to another table. This one is similarly cluttered, and she picks up a thin flask, as gleaming as the full moon.

“You must drink a mouthful every day,” she commands, pressing the flask into Emma’s hand. “It will replenish itself as needed. If you drink it faithfully, then you will no longer be cursed. If you miss a dose, the next moon will see you transform once again. Understand?”

Emma clutches the flask tightly in both hands, her sense of hope and relief finally crashing over her, as strong as the waves from the sea she’d been in on the way here. This – this is it. An answer to her curse, to her prayers, to the monster she’s become. A potion a day and a lock of her hair is a small price to pay, and she can feel her eyes welling with tears, of relief, of gratitude, of freedom.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Emma moves to leave, ready to get out of this place and take a swig of the flask, but Hook holds out his arm, stopping Emma’s path. 

“How do we know it will work? What if this is a trick?”

The witch giggles, high pitched and cold. “Guess you’ll have to trust me, Captain,” she replies, and waves her hand. The front door swings open behind them, and she ushers them towards it. Hook, still glaring at her, steps out ahead of Emma, shrugging as if to shake off the air of the witch’s hut, but Emma pauses, turning back one more time. 

“Thank you,” she says again. “This means a lot to me.” 

The witch smiles, a twinkle in her eye, and says, “Have a safe trip back to your family, dearie.”

A drop of icy realization settles over her like a bucket of cold water, and Emma freezes on the threshold as the witch swings the door shut behind her. 

The witch who had cursed her had used the same pet name of _dearie_. 

Emma turns around, ready to pound on the door for an explanation, but the hut is gone. There is only a thick forest wall behind her, a thin plume of smoke fading into the trees any evidence that the hut and the witch had existed at all. 

<> 

The next month, when the full moon rises, clear and bright in the night sky above the _Jolly Roger _as it cruises silently through the calm waters back toward Emma’s kingdom, her home, her family, there is no pain, no terror, no horror. 

Only peace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out Clockadile's art on tumblr to get a fuller view of the amazing work she created! -- https://clockadile.tumblr.com/post/188598290840/
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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